The Song Remains the Same
by At A Venture
Summary: Buffy/Dean. Castiel brings in a second champion to help the Winchesters save the world and prevent the apocalypse. Set during Season 4. Rated T for now, possible M in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

The Song Remains the Same

A Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Supernatural Crossover

_A/N: Set six years after Sunnydale, so Buffy is about 28ish. AU (obviously). Starts during Season 4's "The Rapture" (goes on into "When the Levee Breaks," "Lucifer Rising," and "Sympathy for the Devil"). Spoilers for all of Buffy, Season 4 of Supernatural. _

-----

"Come on, Slayer," the vampire teased, baring two long, yellowed canines. "What are you waiting for?" His shaggy, scraggly hair hung over his bumpy forehead, and he looked just like a punk kid with too many pimples on his face. He'd probably just been turned, and here he was, challenging her. Buffy narrowed her eyes at the vamp across the slick grass of an old abandoned lot, a wooden stake clutched in her hand.

"Retirement," Buffy hissed. The vampire lunged at her, his arms outstretched as though attempting to morph into a bat. He growled, showing off those pointed teeth. His eyes glowed like stars. Buffy dropped easily down to one knee and thrust up, shoving the stake up into his chest as he dropped over her like a cape. The dust of his remains floated down around her, flakes of the first snow.

A few drops of blood rolled down into the space between her lip and gums. Buffy wiped it away with the back of her hand and got to her feet. She stretched for a moment, cracking her scapula against one another. Muttering under her breath, she picked up the bag of weapons she'd left beside a gravestone and slung it up onto her shoulder.

"Six vamps in one night," she frowned. "You'd think I was living on the Hellmouth again."

It had been five years since Buffy last lived on the mouth of Hell, the one in Cleveland mind you. Sunnydale had perished a few years before that, burned to a smoking crater from which she'd barely escaped. After the Slayer army had taken up residence in various Watcher's Council-funded strongholds around the world, Buffy Summers had taken an extended leave of absence. The new warriors didn't really need her, right? She could find a job, retire from a life of battle, have a little peace.

"Right," she chuckled. "Peace and quiet. I must have been high thinking that."

She packed up a couple of bags, dumped Dawn off at college, waved goodbye to the Scoobies, all of whom were now involved in the Slayer Army, and moved to New York. But still, she didn't seem to escape anything, not really. The vampires were still here, and it seemed like their numbers were increasing. She ran into ghosts and demons, apocalyptic types all of them. Why was everyone so anxious to end the world anyway? She sighed and walked down into the bowels of the city subway, ignoring the homeless guy peeing on the wall, the old lady shivering under a blanket, the junkie staring blindly at the ceiling. At least New York didn't have its own Hellmouth. It had enough problems.

On the train, Buffy's phone beeped impatiently. She lifted the device out of her pocket and eyeballed it. Xander's name blinked on the screen, waiting for a reply. She noted the time, just past five in the morning. The cars would soon fill with cubicle drones, secretaries, inside sales people. Buffy pocketed the phone without opening the new message and hopped off the train. She reached up into the ponytail of blond hair on her head and pulled out some strands of damp grass, some small twigs. The Laundromat loomed ahead of her like a bad omen, maybe because she lived on top of it. Her home never failed to smell like dryer fluff.

Buffy walked down the hall, reaching for the keys stuffed in her pocket. The blood in her mouth found a new outlet, through a small cut across her cheekbone. Shoving the keys in the lock, she turned it and reached inside to turn on the light. A streak of yellow-orange filled the living room, illuminating a man standing in its center. Buffy ripped a knife from her pocket and dropped the rest of the weapons bag on the floor. It spilled open, dumping stakes, axes, holy water, and a number of other things on the floor.

"Thought this would be your lucky night, eh? Break into some chick's apartment, steal her radio and her jewelry, and then take advantage of her on the bathroom floor? Am I close? You're barking up the wrong tree."

"I will not harm you." The man looked at her, his face expressionless, his mouth a straight line.

"Can't say I'd say the same. I'm giving you one chance to haul ass out of here before I haul it out for you." Buffy pushed her stuff out of the doorway with her foot and held the door wide open for him. The man did not move. He stood stiffly in the center of the room.

"Miss Summers, we need to talk." He spoke quietly, but with determination.

"The last time I heard that line, I got stuck in a dead-end job. And I mean dead. Capital D." Buffy smacked the door shut and advanced on the man in her living room. He wore a khaki colored trench coat over a dark suit and his tie hung loosely around his neck. He didn't look like a typical burglar/rapist, but if Buffy Summers had ever learned anything, it was that judging a book by its cover was pretty useless.

"So spill it, who are you?" Buffy held up the knife.

"I am Castiel," he replied. "You may stab me if you wish, but it will do me no harm."

"I feel like I'm in a murder movie," Buffy sighed. "'We have ways of making you talk.' Will you just tell me why you're here? I hate all this cryptic Watcher crap. And that's what you are, aren't you? A Watcher. Look, I've had two. One died and the other moved on to watch other slayers. There are other Slayers. Go watch them."

"I am not a watcher, Buffy. I am an angel of the Lord."

"Uh huh, and I'm the Easter Bunny." Buffy shook her head. Her stomach rumbled impatiently. The night had been a long one, and she could really go for Dawn's favorite bedtime snack: all flavors of cereal mixed together in a big bowl.

"Look, I'm starving, Watcher Boy. Can I interest you in a Diet Coke and a bowl of Lucky Charms? And then you can march your trench coat right out of here. I'm not interested. I'm retired." With that, Buffy walked out of the living room and into the kitchen. She pocketed the knife again, just in case. Maybe this was a psycho Watcher or something. She'd seen those too.

"I do not need food," Castiel replied, somewhat confused. He followed her slowly into the kitchen, a ramshackle sort of room with pots and pans in the sink, dead roach bodies on the floor, and a bald lightbulb hanging from the ceiling.

"Hey, don't judge," Buffy smirked, glancing at the look on his pale face. "I have a job. The hours are terrible. The pay is miniscule. This was pretty much all I could afford on a Slayer's salary."

Buffy began pouring and mixing her cereal: Lucky Charms and Raisin Bran and Corn Pops. She poured in a cup of skim milk and turned a spoon through the bowl. Grabbing a can of Diet Coke out of the fridge, she sat down on a rickety plastic chair and scooped a spoonful of grains into her mouth.

"I am not a Watcher, Buffy Summers. I am an angel of the Lord. I need your help. The world needs your help."

"Still retired," Buffy said cheerfully.

"Then why, if you are retired, have you killed twenty vampires and two demons this week? Why have you exorcised a ghost from the abandoned church in Queens? Why do you continue to help the helpless?"

"Nothing better to do?"

"Do you not wonder why the activity here is so incredible? You have told yourself there is no Hellmouth here, and yet you do as much work as you ever did in Sunnydale."

"Okay, you're reading my thoughts now? That's just not cool, okay? Those are my private thoughts. Private. Look it up." Buffy dropped her spoon in the bowl and shot him a look.

"I have followed you, watched you from above. We are proud of your work, proud to support you, Buffy. We need you in this great battle."

"If you like me so much, how come you pulled me out again?" Buffy got to her feet this time, crossed her arms over her chest, raised an eyebrow. Her green eyes blazed. "How come you let them bring me back?"

"It was not your time to leave," Castiel frowned. "You were still needed."

"And now? With the Slayerettes? You don't need me anymore. No one does. I'm like the Slayer put out to pasture."

"They cannot win this battle, Buffy. Only you can…"

"Prevent forest fires?" Buffy interrupted. "Look, pal, I'm done. You can tap Faith. She's reformed. I here she's a decent leader now. Or maybe Willow. All powerful witch, brought me back to this pit from the big grassy meadow of Heaven. But whatever it is you're looking for, I'm not interested."

"The world will end, Slayer. Your family, your friends, the innocent people you protect every night. It will all end."

"I always wondered what would happen if it did end," Buffy said quietly. She sat back down beside her cereal bowl. She looked down at the colored milk, but suddenly lost her appetite. "All my life, I've been fighting apocalypses. But what would happen if it ended? Would it all turn black? Would we all go poof?"

"In my experience, it is not so simple as a fade to black."

"So the world's going to end? Again?"

"It hasn't actually ended yet. You have been our champion, Buffy. Please, take up our sword one last time. After this, I promise, you will have your retirement."

"And a cookie? I want a cookie. Chocolate chip."

Castiel turned his head to one side, like a confused but very cute puppy. He held out a hand to her, and Buffy got out of the chair. She looked down at her unfinished breakfast. Dawn popped into her head like an omen. Whatever was out there, whatever the end of the world had in store for her, at least she could say she was protecting her family. Xander and Willow could take care of themselves. Giles had a whole pile of Slayers to watch his tweedy back. But Dawn? Dawn was under a big ol' Ivy League roof. Sure, they kept an eye on her, but really, only Buffy could protect her from the Big Bad. With that in mind, Buffy took the angel's hand.

"Where are we going, anyway?" She asked.

"To visit another champion."

"Oh great," Buffy frowned. "Scoobies, Part 2."

Tendrils of wind tickled Buffy's face, brushing back the ponytail still tied into her hair. She stood on a dock, alongside the aluminum chair of a man with a fishing pole. Over his head, she looked at Castiel, his trench coat flapping in the breeze. The two men stared out at the water, contemplative and quiet. A line buoy floated on top of the water.

"We need to talk," Castiel said firmly.

"I'm dreaming, aren't I?" The man in the chair asked, his face turning up. Buffy admired the straightness of his nose, the brightness of his green eyes. She chuckled, inwardly, at the deep huskiness of his voice. Was that intentional?

"It's not safe here. Someplace more private."

"More private? We're inside my head."

"Exactly," Castiel frowned. For the first time, Buffy noticed that he looked like he hadn't slept in days. Did angels sleep? "Someone could be listening."

"Cas, what's wrong?"

"Meet me here." Castiel said, handing the man a piece of folded white paper. "Go now."


	2. Chapter 2

**The Song Remains the Same**

_Chapter 2_

Buffy blinked. Her head ached, and a new trail of blood wet her tongue. She spit, but the saliva stayed in her mouth, the blood floating around her dry tongue. Above her, something sparked, raining crackling light on the damp floor underneath her. Voices echoed in the darkness, and the broken light of two flashlights waved over her face. She tried to sit up, but the room spun on an axis, sending her reeling backward again.

"There was a fight here." Buffy heard one of them say. She reached out and up, looking for something to grab on to and heave herself up. The first thing she caught was a pant leg. With all the strength she could muster, Buffy grabbed on and pulled.

"Between who--whoa!" A man yelped, buckling under the new weight at his ankle. He came crashing down, smacking his backside on the hard concrete floor.

"Sam!" The husky-voiced man yelled, turning to push his fist down into whatever had disrupted his brother. The flashlight pointed down, filling Buffy's face with a sudden light. She blinked and managed to raise a hand over her face.

"Do you mind? I already have a pounding headache." She choked, managing to finally spit out the blood and spit in her mouth. It drooled down her lip and she brushed it away with her hand. Gross.

"Who the hell are you?" The man on the floor asked, his eyes wide. "Wow, are you okay?"

"I'm Buffy Summers," she grunted. "And I recognize you."

"Who?" The husky one frowned, still shining his light on her.

"You. Tell me, is that really your voice or are you trying to compensate for something?"

"Uh," Dean mumbled.

"It's really his voice. Ever since he hit puberty, he's sounded like that. I'm Sam."

"Dude! Sam! She could be a demon!"

"Every demon in town already knows us, Dean. Besides, that looks like one of those angel warding things." Sam pointed to the wall with his flashlight, illuminating a massive drawing in blood.

"Look, I don't know how I got here or what happened or why I feel like I've been hit by a truck, but if we can find that Castiel guy, I think he might know." Buffy pushed herself up, wobbling a little on her feet. Sam grabbed her arm and they stood up together, slowly but surely righting themselves. In the lowered light of Dean's flashlight, Sam made out a massive gash on the side of Buffy's head. Blood had caked into her hair and on her face.

"So, what, Cas was fighting angels?" Sam asked as the three of them approached the sign on the wall. The two men looked to Buffy, but she only shook her head. The last thing she remembered was Dean's dream, fishing on a lake. Dean turned slowly around, murmuring "I don't know."

"Sam," Dean blinked, rushing across the room. Buffy hobbled along behind him with Sam taking up the rear. In the middle of the room, on a broken shelf, Castiel lay on his back, prone and unconscious.

"Cas!" Dean grunted, shaking his shoulders so he rolled around limply. The man sat up, pushing Dean's hands away. He looked even wearier than before, his sleepless eyes baggy and purple, his coat bunched up and wrinkled.

"Castiel," the man said, in a voice so clearly not belonging to Castiel that Buffy stared at him. "He's…he's gone. I'm not Castiel."

"Well, where is he?" Dean demanded, holding the man by an arm.

"I don't…I don't know. But I'm not him. I'm…Jimmy."

"Jimmy?" Buffy croaked, holding a hand against her head where it started to throb.

"Dean, we need to get out of here. This girl isn't looking so good." Sam seemed to be supporting her more and more, as though she'd collapse if he wasn't watching.

"Fine," Dean muttered. "Jimmy, you're coming with us. Whatever went down, we can't stay here."

Buffy sank down onto the edge of the bed, holding the butt of her hand against her temple. Thoughts buzzed around her brain without making a lot of sense. Only thirty minutes before, maybe less, she'd been standing in her apartment after six rounds with the vampire brigade. Now she was sitting in an ill lit hotel room with three complete strangers. The tallest one, a gangly boy about Dawn's age, knelt down beside her, a warm wash rag in his hand. The hotel door opened and Dean walked in, carrying three bags of greasy take-out. At once disgusted and starving, Buffy held out a hand for a hamburger. Dean dug one out of the bag and pressed it into her hand. He set another bag down in front of Jimmy, starvation as plain as day on his face.

"Okay, one more time," Dean grumbled, pulling out his own burger and unwrapping it. Sam pressed the compress against Buffy's head and she winced. "You are…"

"Buffy. Summers. I'm the Slayer."

"The Slayer," Sam frowned.

"Yes. Slayer comma the. You guys claim to hunt demons and you've never heard of me. That's… well, I guess the ol' retirement idea really worked."

"And Castiel brought you here."

"He said something about an apocalypse. Told me we were visiting another champion. And then I was in this dream, your dream. You were fishing."

"Cas showed up, gave me a note," Dean frowned.

"And the next thing you know, you're waking up in a pile of rubble?" Sam blinked, clarifying the end of the story.

"Pretty much. You forgot the migraine from Hell part."

"Whatever came after you, it got you pretty good. You're going to need stitches."

"Don't worry about it, I heal pretty fast." Buffy shrugged.

"And you?" Dean asked, turning around to look at Jimmy. "Dude, you wanna slow down? You're gonna give me angina."

"I'm hungry," Jimmy mumbled through his food. He was finishing his second hamburger. Sam looked up from where he threaded a needle with dental floss.

"When's the last time you ate?"

"Look," Buffy muttered, getting up. She steadied herself on Sam's shoulder and walked to the small dinette table at the edge of the room. "You brought me all the way down here to…wherever it is we are. And you said you had something to tell Grunty over here. So I'm assuming you had some sort of big plan…"

"Not me," Jimmy frowned. "Castiel. I'm just…a guy."

"A guy." Buffy repeated sourly.

"I'm Jimmy…Jimmy Novak. I'm from Pontiac, Illinois. I have a daughter, a wife." Jimmy closed his eyes and sighed. He could see their faces, remember them. It seemed like he hadn't seen them in months.

"That's great, Jimmy, but why am I here? Don't you remember anything?"

"No," Jimmy shrugged.

"Great. That's great." Buffy looked at Dean, beside her. His face was as flummoxed as her own. Sam nodded his head toward the door. Buffy walked out of it. Dean raised his eyebrows and followed while Sam took up the rear.

"We'll be…hang tight, Jimmy."

"What do you want to do with him?" Sam asked, his brows creasing together with worry.

"Buy him a bus ticket, send him home. He has a family." Dean replied matter-of-factly.

"No, I'm sorry but no. He has to know why I'm here, why Castiel brought me to you two. Last night, I was fighting vampires in Brooklyn, and then I lose a day and wake up in a warehouse with you two and a guy that used to be touched by an angel."

"I think she's right, Dean. What if he knows something?"

"He said he doesn't. What do you want me to do, beat it out of him?"

"I'm just saying, Dean," Sam sighed. "Hey, maybe we can take him to Bobby's. We could hypnotize him, maybe. It's possible he doesn't know that he knows anything."

"Who's Bobby?" Buffy asked, confused.

"A friend," Dean answered. "Man, don't you remember when our job was helping people? Trying to get them back to their families?"

"I'm just trying to be realistic, Dean. If we want to figure him out, I bet the demons do too. We should figure out what he knows before they do, don't you think?"

"Ah, hell," Dean sighed.

The three of them walked back inside. Jimmy looked up from his seat at the table. Buffy sank down into the chair beside him, feeling a little woozy. In her pocket, her cellular beeped again. Boy, would she have a story to tell the Scoobies when she got back home.

"You can't go home," Sam sighed.

"What do you mean I can't go home? What am I, your prisoner?"

"You're in danger, Jimmy."

"What? From who?"

"Demons," Dean admitted, staring at the floor like a guilty child.

"But I don't know anything!" Jimmy yelled, getting up from the table. He kept shaking his head, as though trying to push out all the memories of Castiel. "Look, I'm done with it all, okay? I'm done with the demons, the angels, the body aches, the healing, and the crazy travel. Castiel left and I'm out. No more. I'm leaving."

Buffy crossed the room, faster than she thought she could walk. She grabbed Jimmy by the arm and turned him around. He was taller than her, only by a few inches. It never bothered her before, and it sure as hell wouldn't now.

"You're not leaving. You'll put your family in danger if you go out there. Do you want that? We can all pretend that we're out of the game, retired, whatever. The truth is, we can't ever get our lives back, okay? So just sit tight until we figure out what you actually know."

Sam kept watch on the "prisoner" while Buffy, Dean, and Jimmy went to sleep. Buffy eyed the two available beds. Dean stood behind her, his eyes heavy with sleep.

"Take mine," he mumbled. "I'll sleep on the floor."

"I don't mind the floor," Buffy replied thoughtfully.

"Look, I insist, okay? Just take the bed. How's your head doing?" He tilted his face, looking at the stitching Sam had performed on the cut. It was already looking a bit better, not so bruised. "Wow, you do heal fast."

"Perks of the job," Buffy sighed. "One of the very few."

"I hear ya," he nodded. Dean grabbed the blanket from the bed and a pillow from the closet. He sank down into the armchair in the back of the room and put his feet up on the arm. Buffy crawled under the remaining blanket and leaned back into the pillow. Nearby, Jimmy reluctantly slipped beneath his own covers. Sam hovered apprehensively near the door.

"Buffy, Dean, wake up!" Sam yelled, throwing his arms around.

"Five more minutes," Dean groaned in a sleepy daze.

"Shuttup Dawnie," Buffy murmured in her dreams.

"Get UP!" Sam yelled. "He's gone! Jimmy's gone!"

"You were keeping watch," Buffy mumbled, sitting up slowly. Her head pounded anew, though the wound was mostly healed. "What'd he do, kick you in the knee and run?"

"Hehe, gave you the slip, didn't he?" Dean chuckled from the back of the room. He stretched like a cat.

"I went to get a Coke," Sam muttered through clenched teeth.

"Was it a refreshing Coke?" Dean laughed.

"Hilarity ensues," Buffy sighed. "I feel like I'm in an Abbott and Costello movie."

Buffy sank into the passenger seat of the Impala, while Sam shoved their belongings into the trunk and wiggled into the backseat. Dean fumbled with the stereo. It was a nice vehicle as far as vehicles went. Buffy had spent most of her life in the Pedestrian Club, and her limited knowledge of things on wheels was just that--limited. Still, if this were a different place, a place where she wasn't dazed and confused and following the tail of a previously possessed financial analyst, she might have admired Dean Winchester driving along, listening to the Top 40 hits of 1970. The husky voice and lukewarm demeanor were interesting traits, and though she was hellbent on the Castiel hunt, she allowed her mind to ever so briefly stray to whatever was underneath Dean's jacket and tee shirt combo. It had been a long time since she'd last been with anybody, and even longer since that person had been living.

The Rolling Stones came on over the radio and Buffy closed her eyes to let the music sink in. The back of her neck tingled, and she looked up into the rear view mirror, her eyes shooting open. A woman sat back beside Sam, but he seemed to have not even noticed her.

"Uh," Buffy blinked.

"Whoa!" Dean yelled, swerving across the road. Buffy grasped her seat belt and held on while Sam scrambled back against the window.

"Smooth," the woman remarked, looking up into the front seat over Dean's shoulder.

"You wanna try calling ahead?" Dean growled, looking at her through the mirror. She smiled serenely.

"I like the element of surprise." The woman smiled. She looked to the passenger seat, at Buffy's confused face. "You knew I was here."

"My spidey sense was tingling. You are?"

"Anna. And you're Buffy Summers, the Slayer."

"Well, at least somebody's heard of me," Buffy shrugged.

"You let Jimmy get away?" Anna asked, turning to Dean.

"Talk to Ginormo over there," Dean replied, pointing into the backseat at Sam. Sam stared at his knees, looking guilty.

"Sam," Anna frowned. "You look…different."

"I got a haircut."

"No, that's not what I mean. Whatever happened to Castiel, this is…it's bad. Why did you let Jimmy go?"

"It wasn't so much of a letting as an escaping, Anna. Anyway, we're going after him." Dean frowned. "Castiel said he had something to tell me, and then, we ended up with Jimmy. And Buffy."

"Castiel brought you here?" Anna blinked, confused. "Do you know what Castiel wanted to tell Dean?"

"No idea, but I'd love to ask him a few questions of my own. I don't even know why I'm here."

"You have to find Jimmy, find out everything he knows, before the demons get to him. If that happens, we're all shit out of luck."

"It's comforting to hear an angel swear," Buffy shrugged.


	3. Chapter 3

**The Song Remains the Same**

_Chapter 3_

Buffy leaned back against the car hood, her arms crossed over her chest. The pain had finally receded and she could think clearly. This had definitely been one of her better weeks as the Slayer, as far as mass confusion went. Dean sat beside her, staring ahead, waiting for the gas pump to click off. Up at the store, Sam hovered near the potato chip aisle.

"So, you've been a hunter all your life?" Buffy asked, trying to make a little conversation, maybe learn something about the silent man beside her.

"Pretty much," Dean replied shortly.

"Ever been dead?"

"Huh?" Dean blinked.

"Well, I figure that's probably the worst case scenario in our line of work, being dead. Just want to know how committed you really are to this whole apocalypse thing."

"Have you been dead?" Dean countered.

"Yep," Buffy nodded. "Twice."

"Been to Hell?"

"I lived on the mouth of Hell for seven years. So, I'm going to go with yes."

"Yeah, it's no picnic." Dean shrugged.

"You know what would be really great right now?"

"A grilled cheese sandwich with pickles?"

"I don't like people reading my mind."

"Hey, now, Sam's the freaky psychic. Name the cheese."

"Provolone. And Pepper Jack."

"And chili pepper pickles."

"My mouth is watering,"

"Sam! Hurry up! We gotta make a stop."

Buffy, Sam, and Dean drove through the night to Pontiac, Illinois, munching on grilled cheese sandwiches, potato chips, and hot dill pickles. Buffy sucked down the last drops of her diet Coke. Through the rear mirror, she looked at Sam. He stared at his uneaten sandwich, his skin pale and drawn. He looked like a leukemia patient, not a demon hunter. That angel, whoever she was, seemed to think something was up with him, and though she'd only met him a day ago, Buffy had to agree. Sam Winchester was not on the up and up.

"This is it! Hurry!" Buffy yelled, listening to the chaos and commotion inside the house. She scrambled out of the car, pulling a small knife from her pocket.

"Whoa! Wait!" Dean called after her, pulling the Impala to a stop in the middle of the street. Sam and Dean hurled themselves out of the car while Buffy kicked down the front door.

"Damn," Dean hissed under his breath. He pulled out Ruby's knife and took off up the front steps. Buffy had run across the room to the demon woman pounding on Jimmy. She grabbed the woman and threw her across the room, tossing her like a bag of flour against the wall. Dean came up behind the man, slitting his throat with the knife. Sam came in behind them, stretching out his hand.

"Go! Get them out of here!" Sam called to them, scrunching up his face as though in pain.

"Buffy! Come on! Let's go!" Dean pushed her from the room, taking Jimmy and his family along with them. He turned around to watch Sam in the living room, holding the demon still but unable to exorcise her.

"Can't get it up, can you Sam?" The demon grinned, cackling.

"No, but I can!" Dean growled, lifting the knife. Her head fell back, and black smoke emerged from her open mouth like the released flume of a chimney. Buffy stared at them, holding Jimmy and his family back.

"Sam, come on, let's get out of here." Dean grabbed his arm and pushed everyone out into the street. "Everybody in the car."

Dean, Sam, and Buffy bunched into the front seat, while Jimmy and his daughter crawled into the back. Jimmy's wife came shuffling along behind them, holding coats for her family. She got in and shut the door with a bang. The Impala peeled out with a squeal, throwing everyone back into the leather seats. Dean pulled into a gas station down the road, still breathing heavily. Buffy, Sam, and Jimmy piled out of the car, leaving Jimmy's family inside the warmth of the vehicle.

"You were right," Jimmy sighed, looking down at Buffy. "You can't go back. I can't go back."

"Nothing is ever the same way you left it," Buffy replied softly.

"I really don't know anything."

"It doesn't matter," Sam grimaced. "Even if you don't know anything, you're still a vessel. They'd rather rip you apart than let Castiel wiggle his way back into you."

"You'll put them all in danger if you stay with them," Buffy added.

"How long? How long do I have to stay with you? When can I go back to them?"

Buffy reached out and put a hand over his. She sought his worried eyes, searched his sunken face.

"You can't ever go back to them, Jimmy. They will always be at risk."

"You're stuck, Jimmy. There will always be demons out there, trying to get you. So you either stay away from them or you die. It's that simple. You can never go back to them. Never."

Dean looked between the two of them, the sadness in Buffy's eyes, the cruel stare on Sam's face. Between the two of them, Buffy Summers was better at talking a man off a ledge.

"Don't sugar coat it, Sam."

"I'm just being honest."

"Couldn't hurt to use a little tact," Buffy whispered under her breath.

Jimmy leaned down into the car, his voice low, his head bowed in sadness. Through the back window, Buffy could see the tears glistening on his wife's face, hear her sniffle when she drew in a breath. She frowned and got into the front seat of Dean's Impala to wait. Goodbyes were never easy, and saying goodbye to the family you'd never see again? Buffy felt her heart ache with the loss of her own family, her mother. She pulled her feet up and hugged her knees against her chest. The doors opened and banged shut again as Dean, Sam, and Jimmy piled into the car as well. Jimmy's lonely family waited, loss painted on their faces.

The leather seat was uncomfortable under her head and Buffy soon woke, opening her eyes halfway in the darkness. Dean was looking through the mirror at Sam in the backseat. She listened to their conversation, but decided to continue feigning sleep.

"Hey, what was that back there?" Dean asked Sam. Beside Sam, Jimmy slept against his trench coat.

"What was what?"

"You, with the fainting. You used to be strong enough to take out Alastair and now you can't even kick out a demon stunt double?"

"Hey, I wasn't fainting. I was just…woozy."

"Uh huh, woozy. You're scaring me man, with this weird mind mojo."

"I'm scaring myself." In his pocket, Sam's phone rang. Buffy sat up, trying to look as though she was awakened by the sound. She looked at the hardness of Dean's features in the near darkness, wondering what he was thinking.

"Who is this?" Sam asked on the phone. He shook his head and handed the phone to Jimmy, nudging him in the shoulder to wake him. Jimmy looked at him blankly. "It's your wife."

"Amelia?" Jimmy asked. He paused, listening to the voice on the other end. "Oh my God."

"What?" Buffy asked, turning around in her seat. "What is it?"

"The demons, they have my family," Jimmy whimpered.

"We told you not to go back. You put them in harm's way!" Sam practically yelled at him.

"Sam, chill out. If it was you, would you have listened to us? Wouldn't you do anything you could to see your family?" Buffy asked. "We'll go after them. Where are they?"

"A warehouse outside of town." Jimmy repeated the address and Dean turned the car around, heading in the other direction.

"They want you. You'll never be able to escape them. They'll hunt you down until they kill you and everyone you love."

"Enough, Sam. We'll take care of this."

"They want me to go alone."

"Of course they do. They always do."

Dean pulled up in front of the warehouse. Buffy and Sam piled out of the passenger side, while Dean took Jimmy's arm. Jimmy's hair was in disarray, and a cut swelled on his cheek. It wasn't his best day ever, Buffy was pretty sure. She watched Dean over the top of the car.

"Go in alone. Sam, and Buffy, and I will work our way through and meet you in there. Be careful."

"Fine. Just give me a minute." Jimmy sighed and wandered off.

"This is a trap. You know that, right?" Buffy shrugged.

"Yeah, but I have a plan."

"Fine, you have a plan. Look. I'll meet you inside. The demons don't know much about me. I'll find my own way in. Be careful." She shook her head and ran off in another direction, avoiding the brothers. A plan, she scoffed to herself. Right. Of course you have a plan.

Buffy walked around the outside of the building, admiring the systems of air shafts the exited the building. She looked up at a massive light pole stretching up into the sky and chose that as her means of entrance. Shimmying up the fixture, Buffy reached over with the knife and forced open an air vent. She reached out across the empty void of space beneath her and got a good grip on the inside of the vent. Then she yanked, pulling herself in while letting go of the fixture with her legs. One step down. How many more to go?

Wiggling through the crawl space was an adventure in claustrophobia. She could hear Jimmy down there, beneath her, and the demon too. Then there were new voices, Sam and Dean captured. Figures, she chuckled to herself. Whatever Dean's plan of action was, it wasn't exactly well-planned. Of course, nobody's perfect. Below her, Dean's mumbling voice echoed her thoughts almost exactly. Weird, she thought. It's like he's in my head. The best thing to do now was wait, wait for the perfect moment to get the jump on ol' black eyes.

Up in the air vent, she heard the clicking sound of a weapon foreign to every slayer, the pistol. Buffy jumped from the ceiling as the weapon went off, the sound of a groaning grunt echoing in the room. She toppled over the demon, throwing it to the floor. Dean and Sam wiggled loose, weapons at the ready. Buffy pounded her fist into the demon, grabbing the gun and throwing it into a far corner.

"Those weapons? They don't solve anything!" She yelled at the demon, throwing another hard punch, a knee to the chest, a crushing blow to the nose.

"Sam! Get Jimmy!" Dean yelled, killing a demon with one powerful stab to the shoulder.

"Dean! The girl!" Buffy called, pointing him toward Jimmy's daughter, passed out in a chair at the end of the room. Dean started after her when she sat up suddenly, her eyes wide, her mouth straight and narrow.

"Stop," she said, getting to her feet easily.

"Castiel," Jimmy whispered, holding his guts together with both hands.

"Sam!" Dean cried, watching Sam bend down over a demon, a knife in his hands. Buffy angled her head, trying to see what he was doing, but a punch came out of nowhere, knocking her across the jaw.

"Is that the best you can do?" Buffy asked, spitting blood on the floor. "I could fill a rolodex with the demons I've killed."

"Oh God," Dean hissed, causing Buffy to look up, her hand around the throat of her opponent. Sam looked up from his own victim, its blood smeared across his face, the knife sticking out of its chest. Buffy reached out as another demon came up behind Dean.

"Watch out!" Sam reached out his hand a second time, and the black smoke poured out of Jimmy's wife's mouth, piling down on the floor before it took off to the air vent.

"Of course we keep our promises," Castiel frowned, leaning over Jimmy. His wound pulsed, spilling more and more blood from his stomach. Buffy killed the last of the demons and hurried to Jimmy's side.

"We have to stop the bleeding. He needs a doctor." She looked up into the face of Castiel, buried in the body of a girl.

"You are free, Jimmy. You have served us well and we are grateful. You will retire into the valley of the Lord. You will be happy. You will never grow old and you will never die."

"Take me," Jimmy pleaded, blood pooling around his teeth. Buffy found an ache in her heart, the ache to go back. She took a step away, and stood, her hands covered in his blood.

"She is chosen, like you were chosen. It is in her blood."

"No, take me. Take me."

"As you wish," the angel said without emotion. Light erupted from the girl's hands as she cupped her father's face. Buffy felt her breath escape her and rise into the room like a cloud. Jimmy sat up, his wounds healed, his body unbroken. But his blood still coated Buffy's trembling hands. He wasn't Jimmy Novak anymore. He was Castiel, the angel that had brought her to this place two days before.

"You were going to tell me something," Dean whispered, his voice lacking the gruff force that Buffy had come to know.

"I learned something while I was away. I serve Heaven. I do not serve man. And I do not serve you." Castiel's eyes moved from Sam, to Dean, and finally to Buffy, standing alone, her face like a mask.

"Tell me why you brought me here." Buffy growled, narrowing her eyes. She didn't look up, but there was no question as to who she addressed.

"It does not matter." Castiel replied. He turned then, putting his back to the three hunters. "Nothing matters but the charge of Heaven."

"So aren't you gonna ask? Throw punches? Yell?" Sam asked in the car. Buffy curled up on the backseat, wiping her hands on her jeans.

"Nope," Dean replied. She could see him through the mirror, his face as void of emotion as her own. If she ever got the chance to stop the roller coaster and get off, she'd consider asking Dean about that mask. It looked eerily familiar.

"Come on, Dean. You saw what I did. Just…say something."

"What do you want me to say, Sam? That I'm disappointed? I am. But you know what, it doesn't matter. I'm just done. I'm done."

Sam's phone rang, cutting off whatever strain still lingered between them. Sam pressed the phone to his ear and listened.

"What's up, Bobby?" He paused, listening, while Dean's eyes flickered into the back of the car. Two pair of green eyes met for a minute, and then flicked away again when Sam hung up.

"What'd he say?"


	4. Chapter 4

**The Song Remains the Same**

_Chapter 4_

Dean and Buffy followed Sam up to the porch steps of Bobby Singer's house in South Dakota. It had been a long night on the road, and all three of them were exhausted. Dean's shoulders hunched, and his face was set with an odd grimace. Buffy yawned and rubbed her eyes with her knuckles. Sam seemed restless. His demeanor almost reminded her of Willow's dependence on magic, her addiction to the sensation. She shook her head. Impossible. Sam wasn't a witch. At least, not as far as she could tell.

"Hey guys," Bobby nodded as he opened the door. He looked past Sam's arm at Buffy and cocked one bushy salt and pepper eyebrow. "Uh, and girl?"

"Bobby, this is Buffy Summers," Dean said briefly as they all walked inside.

"The Slayer Buffy Summers?" Bobby furrowed his brow inquisitively.

"You know about the Slayer?" Sam blinked.

"Yeah. I'll tell you about it later. Look, Buffy, can you stay here a sec? I want to show the guys something downstairs."

"Uh, sure," Buffy agreed. She looked around at the stacks of books, the desk in disarray, the car parts and blue books on nearly every available surface. Lurching over a stack of demonology texts, she slumped onto a ratty sofa. "I'll just hang out here."

Buffy waited patiently, her eyes beginning to droop. When was the last time she'd gotten a decent night's sleep? It had been three nights since Jimmy Novak had flown the coop, and that was the last time she could actually remember dreaming. The dreams, if you could call them that, were all the same these days. She only had three, and they repeated themselves like tracks on a cassette tape. There was the one about waking up in a pine box under six feet of heavy dirt. She screamed in the darkness until her voice gave out, and then punched her way to the surface, clawing at the wood and dirt until her hands bled. When she broke the surface, the world was on fire. There was the dream about her mother's death, something she'd never really overcome. She came home from class to find Joyce on the sofa, her eyes staring vacantly at the ceiling, her corpse stone cold, her heart silent. She trembled in the middle of the floor with no one to defeat, no monster to face, no revenge. Finally, there was the dream about the bowels of Hell, the final fight, the Sunnydale showdown. She imagined herself losing every time, succumbing to the darkness, giving up, letting them beat her. Her flesh crawled.

"Buffy?" Dean prodded, pulling her out of her thoughts. "You alright? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Fine," Buffy mumbled quietly. Her mouth felt dry but her palms were clammy and cold. She looked around at their faces. Bobby had removed his baseball cap. He sat down at his desk and pulled up a dusty volume. Dean leaned back on the desktop, supporting himself with one foot on a low stool.

"Where's Sam?"

"In withdrawal," Dean replied briefly.

"Demon blood," Buffy said, letting it wash over her like nightfall.

"Yeah," Dean grunted in reply.

"If you two are done? I think we need to spend some time trying to figure out Castiel's cryptic message here. Whatever he wanted to tell you, he isn't giving it up. But now we've got a vampire slayer on our hands, so I suggest we do some digging."

"How did you know she was The Slayer, Bobby? I've never even heard the term."

"Met one, once. In the 70s. This was before I knew your dad. Her name was Nikki. Rough and tumble sort of girl. We worked a case together, can't remember what we were doing. Probably something vampire-related."

"She had a son," Buffy remembered, recalling Principal Wood, in Sunnydale. "One of the few slayers to have a kid."

"So, Buffy, what did Castiel say to you?"

"Well, he said that all the weird shit going on in my town wasn't just a coincidence. I've been fighting pretty hard out there. I mean, I moved to New York to get away from the Hellmouth. And it just…well, it was quiet for awhile and then it sorta…picked up."

"Yeah," Dean frowned, rubbing the back of his head. "About that…"

"Doesn't matter right now, Dean. The point is, Castiel tapped you, Buffy. You said he knew about all the work you've been doing. What else?"

"Well, I told him I was retired, or trying to be. Maybe he could ask one of the others, the other Slayers."

"Wait, hold up," Dean put up a hand wearily. "I thought you were the Chosen **One**."

"Long story. I was. I had to spread the power out a little, like peanut butter on toast. Basically, there are new Slayers popping up all the time now. Everyone who had potential is now a Slayer. Full on."

"Intense," Dean grunted.

"Anyway, Castiel said that none of the girls could do whatever it is he needed. I was the only one. I was all set to turn him down when he told me the world was going to end. I have a lot of experience with the world ending. So, he promised me this would be the last time, the last hurrah. I could retire. Oh, and he promised me a cookie."

"Chocolate chip or peanut butter?"

"Chocolate chip. Duh." Buffy stuck out her tongue.

"Peanut butter cookies aren't worth an apocalypse. I wonder what an angel-certified chocolate chip cookie tastes like anyway. All soft and buttery and chocolatey…"

"Focus, Dean. Think with your head, not your stomach."

"Right," Dean nodded, trying to keep his brain switched on.

"So, he told you about an apocalypse, world ending, and a cookie," Bobby confirmed. Buffy nodded thoughtfully, trying to remember anything else.

"Then he told me we had to see another champion. And that's how I ended up in Dean's dream, about the fishing."

"I don't usually dream about fishing," Dean grumbled. "I usually dream about…well, nevermind."

"Thanks for that, angsty," Bobby muttered, shaking his head. "So, he brought you to Dean's dream, and that's when Castiel gave you the address, right?"

"Yep,"

"Okay then." Bobby turned the page of the book laid out in front of him. His face read nothing. If the Winchesters ever needed a Watcher, Bobby Singer was the guy for the job. Lots of books, nerd to the max, and completely unintelligible in times of confusion, crisis, and disaster. Awesome.

"Okay then…what?" Buffy asked, getting to her feet.

"I've got nothing," Bobby frowned at his book.

"Glad you cleared that up for us, Bobby," Dean scowled.

"Why don't you try doing some of your own damn research, ya idjit?" Bobby growled, getting out of his chair. "The pair of you boys are like a thorn in my side. Get out of my house. I need to think."

"Can I have a sandwich first?" Dean asked, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"Out!"

Dean shuffled out of the house, his jacket collar stuck up around his ears like a punk Greaser. Buffy followed him out the door, looking over her shoulder at the grouchy hunter pouring over his books. Yep, add a tweed coat and a pair of glasses to clean and he'd be Rupert Giles. It was as eerie a resemblance as she'd ever seen. She let the screen door slam shut behind her and sat down on the porch steps.

"So," Buffy started, looking at Dean. He stood in the dust, kicking at it with one shoe. His green eyes stared far into the distance, looking at something that couldn't really be seen. "You want to spar a little? I could really use a good fight."

"Are you kidding?" Dean chuckled, cocking one eyebrow in disbelief.

"I promise I won't hurt you. I can hold back." Buffy got up, clenching one fist slowly. Her knuckles gleamed white.

"Yeah, but can I hold back enough not to hurt you?" Dean shook his head.

"Don't worry, Dean. You won't hurt me." She shrugged her shoulders playfully. "I'm the Slayer."

"I don't think that means what you think it means," Dean smirked. Still, he shrugged off his jacket. Underneath it, he wore a simple black tee shirt, a brass pendant around his neck.

"Okay, I bet you five bucks that I'll make first body contact," Buffy grinned, her eyes blazing with excitement.

"Can't resist a good bet," Dean grinned back. "You're on."

Buffy dropped her own jacket on the steps, a dusty, dirty, blood-stained leather jacket that she'd been lugging around for three days now. She stretched, rolling back the muscles in her shoulders, her arms. She lifted her hands up in front of her face as a shield and smirked, raising her eyebrows teasingly.

"Come and get it," she beamed. Dean sank forward into an offensive position. He moved timidly, not wanting to hurt her. His feet shuffled in the dirt. He swung a punch out, testing the water, not expecting a response.

"Oh come on," Buffy laughed, grabbing his arm. She crunched down on his muscles and lifted, throwing him across the field of play, smacking his legs into the Impala which whined at the insult. "Pretend I'm a demon. Pretend I'm an enemy."

"Ow," Dean groaned, rubbing his back. She was tough, maybe tougher than he realized. Fine. Two could play at this game. He moved at her again, swinging out a much stronger, harder blow. It was almost as hard as he could hit. Buffy ducked under the elbow and threw a punch of her own, cramming her fist into his ribs. It wasn't as hard as she could hit either. She could knock him to the ground without breaking a sweat. But this was all in fun, just a game really.

"You owe me five bucks," Buffy smiled.

"Let's make this more interesting. First drop of blood for ten."

"Double or nothing, Dean? I wonder what I'll do with my winnings? Round of beers at the closest bar? A gallon of milk to go with my angelic cookie? I've been meaning to make a lot of long distance calls on the cell phone…"

"Stop talking and fight," Dean grimaced. He was getting into it, into the brawl. It wasn't a brawl yet, not really, but they'd get there. Buffy made her first offensive move, a lunge and a jab, her fist barely missing his cheek. The power behind it was incredible. He felt the air swerve past him like a car on the highway. He countered the move, grabbing her arm and swinging her away, down onto the ground. Her eyes darkened as she bounced back on her arms, sprung back up again like a bungee, and kicked, swinging her hip out wide. The black boot caught him in the ribs again, shoving him back up against the hood of the car. Dean wheezed for breath.

"Shit," Buffy hissed. "You okay?"

"Don't worry about me," Dean gasped. "Worry about yourself." He scrambled back into the fray, throwing a hard elbow, which she deflected. He used his leg to knock her off her feet and shove her on her back to the dusty floor beneath them. Buffy smacked her skull on a stone and her ears buzzed for a minute. It was a good move.

"No blood yet," she hissed, feeling the back of her head as she sat up, resting an elbow on her bent knee. "Just a bruise."

"Give me time," Dean whispered, lurching off to one side as he tried to catch his breath.

"I'll wait until you're ready," Buffy said as she got to her feet. Dean stood up slowly, his chest rising and falling as he panted.

"I'm ready,"

"You don't look so good, Dean Winchester. You look tired. Maybe you should have a seat."

"Give up? Honey, you don't know me too well."

Buffy jumped back in with a swift roundhouse kick, missing Dean as he grabbed her knee and tossed her backward. She flipped, touching her palms briefly to the ground before whirling over onto her feet again. Dean got back in her face, and the punches began. He'd uppercut toward her pretty face, looking for a way in to catch her on the cheek or the mouth, something that would split on impact. Buffy did the same, throwing a cross, a hook, going for the nose or the eye. Without using her full combat strength, they were a perfect match in coordination and skill. Hit and deflect, hit and deflect. They could continue that way until the end of time, or until someone made a mistake.

"You can't keep this up forever, Dean," Buffy growled. "I can,"

"Don't use that superhero bull shit on me, Slayer. Give me your best shot."

"You wouldn't survive it."

"Try me,"

"I could use the extra cash. I'm behind on the rent."

"Ten bucks for rent? Do you live in a cardboard box?"

Buffy threw it, hard and fast, the punch knocking him backward, out of her face. Dean flew through the air and landed in a thorny, dead bush. Leaves and dust rolled out from under him. He groaned in agony, rubbing the spot in his side where the punch had hit. No blood. Just a very bad bruise. He'd take days to come back from that one. Still, Dean Winchester yanked himself out of the foliage and, with care, stood up. Buffy watched, one hand on her hip, one eyebrow curved high on her forehead. Well, at least he wasn't lying. The man didn't give up.

"That the…" Dean coughed. "Best you got?"

"You want more?"

"Haven't finished the bet,"

"Maybe we should take a break, get a drink or…a nurse,"

"Do you need one?" He straightened up, swallowed, wiped the dirt from his face.

"No, but you might,"

"I'm fine. Never better."

"Dean, seriously…" Buffy frowned, furrowing her brow like a concerned parent. He really wasn't looking so good. Sweat made patterns in the dirt on his face. He held onto his ribcage like he'd broken something important. His brow creased with pain. His eyes watered.

"Fight," Dean muttered, narrowing his eyes. He wasn't looking at the Slayer anymore, a pretty girl with green and gold eyes, bouncy blond hair, a great ass. He couldn't see her at all. Instead, he saw Alastair with his grinning white teeth and his vacant black eyes. He saw Castiel, useless and quiet and completely full of answers that he would never give to Dean. He saw John Winchester, the man responsible for the person he'd become.

Dean rushed forward, pushing the reminder of pain from his mind. He slammed against her, fists punching, teeth clenched. He blocked her hits with his forearms, got a few hits in around her arms, her abdomen. He managed to get a leg between them, to shove her backward at the navel. He left a footprint on her shirt. Buffy came back at him, long legs kicking out swiftly, catching him in the knee, the hip. He pushed her away on the last one, turning her in a complete spin. When she came back to face him again, he was ready. His elbow hooked out and caught her across the head, knocking her sideways into the passenger seat of the Impala. She hissed, wincing noticeably. Blood trickled from the wound, just enough to call them even. It traced the line of her eye, dribbled down her cheekbone, dropped onto her clavicle, soaked into her shirt. Dean heaved a breath.

"Ten bucks," Buffy whispered, catching her own breath. She hadn't seen the hit coming, not until it was too late. There was a fire inside Dean Winchester that he kept well hidden. Whatever he'd conjured up in his mind to replace her, it was enough to bring the fighter out. She stuffed her hand into her pocket and pulled out a handful of ones.

"Save 'em," Dean murmured. Buffy was coming back into focus, her head bleeding, her hair tousled.

"Take them, Dean," Buffy scowled. "You won."

"Fine," Dean grunted, taking the money from her hand. He noticed a few spots of blood on her hand. She'd broken her knuckles against his face. He rubbed his cheek. "You want a beer?"

"Or six," Buffy nodded, sinking down onto the ground where she leaned against the car. The rubber tire was hot on her back.

Dean hobbled to the fridge behind Bobby's kitchen and picked two beers out of it. He stumbled back and sat down against the car beside her. Buffy twisted the cap off and poured a third of the amber liquid down her throat. The back of her esophagus burned.

"Can I ask you something?" Dean murmured, looking down into the beer bottle like it had all the answers.

"You just did."

"Yeah," Dean frowned. "Yeah."

"Ask," Buffy shrugged. She, too, looked down into the bottle. She couldn't even imagine looking at Dean's face, at the number she'd done on him. The wind came up, covering them with a new layer of brown dirt.

"Have you done it…have you…" Dean faltered, trying to think of the best way to say it. It was a ridiculous question. He couldn't believe he was even asking her. "Have you ever killed someone you love?"


	5. Chapter 5

**The Song Remains the Same**

_Chapter 5_

_A/N: This chapter is rated M. Scenes and a few lines come from Season 4, Ep 21: When the Levee Breaks_

_

* * *

  
_

Buffy considered answering his question with a question. Why was he asking? Did he have to kill someone? Was there some sort of weird underlying philosophy that she was supposed to seek out? She thought back, back to a time when life seemed easier, decisions simpler, life questions a little less dramatic. She'd only been sixteen years old when she'd had to make the choice to kill her boyfriend and save the world. Things had only gotten harder since that day. She tried not to think about it.

"Yeah," Buffy nodded. She poured the rest of the drink over her tongue and set the empty bottle on the ground. "Sort of a kill him or the world will end situation. I didn't have a choice…well, not a good one anyway."

"So he died," Dean whispered.

"Yeah, and then he came back. From Hell."

"He went to Hell?" Dean looked up, his face draining of color.

"You know, I've been to Hell. I've seen so many faces of Hell, I could practically write a book about it. But the one I can't get out of my head is Angel, shivering on the floor, clawing at me like an animal, tortured and beaten down for God only knows how long."

"Yeah," Dean shuddered.

"You've been there too," Buffy mumbled after a moment of thoughtful silence. That was the mask on his face, the dark vacancy in his eyes. Dean Winchester had been to Hell, and the man that came out on the other side wasn't the man that had gone down to The Pit.

"Is it obvious?"

"Nope," Buffy shrugged. "Call it my Slayer sense."

"You said you died," Dean added lamely.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Same,"

From somewhere beneath the house, Sam Winchester howled like a caged animal. Dean looked up, his shoulders tensing. His forehead creased like a wrinkled sheet. He was worried, worried about his brother.

"Maybe you'll get the choice I didn't, Dean," Buffy sighed, getting to her feet. "Maybe it isn't too late."

Right, maybe. Buffy stared down into the bottle, but saw right through the glass. Maybe Dean wouldn't have to kill his brother, but that didn't mean that he wouldn't die. Even out here, far beyond the iron walls of Bobby Singer's panic room, they could hear Sam Winchester screaming in agony. Had he already gone too far, followed the same crazy path toward destruction that Willow had once taken? Had he already crossed the line, dropped the noose around his neck, condemned himself to death? Maybe that was why she'd been brought here, to do the thing that Dean couldn't bring himself to do. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, traced the shadows on his face. He was lost in his own thoughts, and though she couldn't read them, she knew they were probably focused on Sam. That was what older siblings thought about--the people that depended on them, their brothers and sisters. Sam Winchester was no witch, of that she was certain. But on the other hand, she'd watched him exorcise a demon with his brain. Intense. What else could Sam do?

The dirt coiled up around her hands as Buffy scrambled to her feet. Dean glanced up as she walked away. He didn't turn back to his thoughts until she'd let the door fall shut behind her. Buffy walked slowly past Bobby Singer's desk, but he didn't acknowledge her. He was buried in his books, scribbling notes, practically cleaning his invisible glasses. Her muscles were actually aching, a revelation that came as a bit of a shock. Few standard human men could give her an actual pummeling. She hadn't let Dean take the crack at her. It had just happened. It wasn't luck, either. The man had some real talent.

Buffy pushed open the bathroom door with a loud creak. She shut it behind her and stood in front of the mirror. In a hunter's home, there was bound to be some sort of first aid kit somewhere. The crack to her skull had been a great hit, a hit that oozed blood and swelled and bruised all at the same time. To be perfectly honest with herself, she felt a little dizzy, like the world had taken one big step to the left without telling her. She bent down slowly; completely aware of the throbbing in her muscles, the bruises around her hips and stomach, the few falls she'd taken. Under the sink, she pushed things around in the cabinets: a few packages of soap, a pair of muddy shoes, a stash of toilet paper, and, aha--a first aid kit. It took her a moment to stand up, but she placed the small aluminum box on the sink and fiddled with the latch.

Leaving the kit open, Buffy pulled carefully at her shirt. It peeled away from the skin, sweaty and dirty and disgusting. She dropped it on the tile floor under her feet. The bruises were already forming: pools of blood throbbing up under her skin. She'd taken a few cracks to the forearms, a few more to the ribs. Each stab of Dean's fist was visible. When he hit the target, he really hit it. Note to self, never get between Dean and the thing he's protecting. She rubbed a hand over a lumpy spot on her bicep. A cloth sat dry beside the sink. Buffy folded it over in one hand and turned on the cold tap. She soaked the scrap of cloth until it dripped and pressed it firmly against her head. Too many head injuries on this trip already.

The door swung slowly open. Dean stood in the frame, his shirt clutched in his hands. If Buffy's wounds could be described as black and blue, Dean looked more like a blood stain on concrete. His ribcage was almost black with gnarly, Slayer-inflicted bruising. Buffy winced just looking at him. In the mirror, she looked the rest of him over. He wasn't bleeding--that was how he'd won the bet, but he was about as close to it as anyone could be. A fading burn, oddly hand-shaped, scarred his shoulder.

Neither hunter said a word. Dean stepped up to occupy the space of sink next to her. He took a square of gauze from the open first aid kit and helped Buffy tape it to her forehead. She wiped away the coagulated blood drops that stuck to her hair and skin. From the kit, Buffy pulled out an instant cold pack. She crushed it between her fingers, splashing chemicals together inside the vinyl bag. Trying to be gentle, she pressed the bag against Dean's ribs. He hissed, breath escaping from pursed lips, gnashed teeth. His muscled stomach caved in, a snail diving into its shell for protection.

He glanced up at her, trying to put on that mask again. It was the _I'm not scared, I'm not hurt, I'm fine, don't pity_ me mask. She dug under it with her fingernails and pulled it away. The ice pack dropped like a brick. She reached up and found his mouth, the pale straight lips, the unkempt stubble of his straight chin, the shadowed and heavy brow. Beneath the floor, down in the pit of the basement, Sam Winchester screamed. Dean slammed the bathroom door, and the sound of it was almost deafening. He kissed back, needy but not passionate. Buffy drew away from him, just long enough to claw at the faucet on the shower, to turn the water on full blast. Whatever remaining noises filtered up from the bowels of the house, they were overwhelmed by the rushing burst of hot water. More than half-clothed, Buffy pushed back the curtain and slid under the water, letting it wash away the blood and filth. Dean followed her like a hungry animal, not bothering to take off his pants.

She lifted her face to his only once, studied the play of light in his eyes. His head was elsewhere, probably spinning on a top through recollections of Hell, other women, better times. It didn't matter. She'd known Dean Winchester for three days, and the closest she felt to him was when he was beating her over the head with his fist. That had to be fucked up in somebody's book, but in the book of the Slayer, it was the way things seemed to turn out. For better or worse. She didn't spend much time thinking about it. He sucked at her neck, one hand reaching around her to flick open the clasp of her gray cotton bra. She let it slide down her arms and sink like a slippery wet stone. Her fingers twisted around the button on his jeans. She fumbled with the waist, which stuck to his damp skin. They didn't stop to laugh at the moment, but expelled frustration in grunts and groans.

A hundred thoughts passed through her head as Buffy squirmed out of her own pants, the denim sticking to her flesh. Why did she look for this harshness, this lonely act of aggression? Was it the adrenaline that coursed up through her veins, making her feel about as alive as shoving a sword through the throat of a demon? Was it the fact that she never felt alive unless she was hurting something else? Her heart seemed heavy as Dean pressed her up against the rickety tile wall and thrust into her, his face a mirror of darkness, sadness, and angst. Neither one wanted to feel like a person.

Anxiety battling her every step of the way, Buffy reached out to cup his cheek. Her fingers trembled like fluttering leaves in hurricane winds. Dean's eyes were bloodshot. His lips were dry and chapped. Buffy smoothed her thumb over his cheek, tickling her skin with his day-old beard. His hips softened. Red-stained pupils seemed to recognize her, as though he'd just stepped out of a dark movie theater into a bright afternoon. For a moment, they were people instead of warriors. Their lips met, and when Buffy reacted with a shiver to the continuous stream of running water, Dean tucked her against his torso and let his body heat radiate through her. He released a breath, a gasp of air that he'd been holding onto for a long time. The female body trapped in his embrace convulsed for a few seconds and relaxed. He tucked a few strands of wet blond hair behind her ear and released her.

---

Buffy sat up slowly, scratching at the square of gauze on her temple. She pulled it off and discarded the scrap in a trash can beside Bobby's bed. The clock on the night stand read the time at two minutes after six o'clock, but it wasn't so much the time as the feeling that woke Buffy from a less than stellar dreamless sleep. She pulled away the sheets and looked down. Okay, Buffy, before you go off running, you need to find some clothes. The Slayer sprang from the bed and ripped through the closet, looking for anything remotely wearable. She yanked out a beat-up flannel shirt, about ten sizes too big, and a cobwebby pair of jeans, probably last worn in 1980. Without a weapon, and with a stirring desire to find one, Buffy bounded down the stairs and out of the house. Bobby looked up from the stove where he was frying a ham sandwich. He muttered something she didn't hear.

"Okay, the ooky feeling thing is so past my job description," Buffy muttered to herself, under her breath. She crept through the wide lot of abandoned cars that made up Bobby's property. Somewhere in the distance, she could hear voices. One of them was husky and dark and definitely belonged to Dean Winchester.

"If I do this, Sammy doesn't have to?" She heard him, and ran faster. Okay, Dean, you don't make deals. There are no deals in this game. You don't make deals with devils or angels or anybody. She swerved into a pale stream of light and saw Castiel. The look on his face seemed conflicted with the words coming out of his mouth. He looked past Dean, into the black night where the Slayer stood, trying to catch her breath.

"Say it," Castiel frowned, his light blue eyes close to watering.

"No!" Buffy squeaked, jutting out between the two of them from beside a windowless Buick.

"Slayer," Castiel breathed. He didn't hiss the word, the way most of Buffy's opponents seemed to do. Was there some sort of a class on greeting your enemy's with whispered threats? Castiel seemed relieved.

"Buffy?" Dean blinked, caught off guard by her rather unorthodox entrance.

"Whatever you're about to agree to? Don't. If there's one thing I've learned, it's that no one ever keeps a promise, not even a damn angel." They can't even let you die in peace.

"I have to do this," Dean sighed, shaking his head.

"Castiel brought me out here for a reason, Dean. He won't tell us what that reason is, but damnit, I don't think either of us should trust him until he does! He's not on your side anymore."

Dean looked between the two of them, angel and Slayer. He stalked into the darkness, getting down in Buffy's face, his eyes pinched and dark.

"I'm not going to let my brother turn into a monster to save the world. Whatever it is they want from me? It's better than watching him become my enemy. I can't hunt Sam. I can't."

"You'll do whatever it takes when the time comes, Dean." Her voice softened to a harsh whisper, a whisper that burned the back of her throat. "You'll do what you have to do, and it will break you and change you, but you'll do it anyway. Like Cas said, you're Chosen. You're special. Those are never good things."

Over Dean's shoulder, Castiel's eyes glistened. Maybe it was the darkness or his own determination, but Dean Winchester was blind to the emotion peeking out of the angel's human eyes.

"I give myself over wholly to the service of God…and you guys," Dean growled painfully. He spit the last word at Castiel, anger coming off of him in streams.

"You swear to follow His word as swiftly and obediently as you did your own father's?" Castiel asked, his brows curved up in distress and pain.

"Yes, I swear," Dean agreed. "Now what?"

"Now we wait, and we call on you when its time."


	6. Chapter 6

**The Song Remains the Same**

_Chapter 6_

The book crashed to the floor, flipping and rustling the old pages, haunting the room with a deafening thud. Buffy lingered in the doorway, the screen door swinging in the cool Dakota breeze. Paint chips peeled away from the frame where her shoulder leaned. Blood tingled in her veins, pumping through the circuit of her body at incredible speed. Still, she remained stock still and mute, waiting for the crash of Bobby's voice.

"Wait," Bobby breathed, containing his temper. "Back up. You did what?" His bushy eyebrows seemed to disappear under the brim of his beat up baseball cap. "What was all that crap about not trusting the damn angels?"

Dean threw up his hands and turned on his heel, stalking out into the empty room. Steam rolled from his shoulders, his nostrils, perhaps even his ears. He paced from one side of the room to the other, unable to find an escape route

"I don't trust them! They're like…politicians with wings!" He spun away from Bobby, only to come face to face with the Slayer. He winced as he searched her face for sympathy and found only anger. "But what choice do I have? Either I trust the angels or Sam trusts a damn demon!"

They stared at each other, speechless. Dean had a point, though it was a poor excuse for the choice he'd made. Buffy shook her head finally and turned away from him. Pointing her cold green eyes at the scuffed wooden floor, she realized that in the same situation, she'd make the same choice. If Dawn were Sam, she'd have done everything in her power to sever Ruby's neck from her body. _Nobody messes with Dawnie_. Now it was too late to break the demon away from Sam. Nothing was going to sever that bond.

In silence, Bobby climbed the stairs. His footsteps echoed on the creaking floorboards, and the violent slam of his bedroom door sent ripples of frustration through the entire house. Dean fell into the sunken cushions of the sofa, his head cradled in his hands. Buffy glanced over at him, torn. Beneath the floor, Sam's whimpers and moans serenaded them. Dean shook his head and lay back on the flabby pillows. He pulled a blanket up to his neck and turned his head to the back of the couch. He was out in a minute. Buffy fingered the light switch, plunging the house into darkness. She cast back one more gaze at the broken shell of Dean Winchester, and sank out of the house into the night.

Overhead, the South Dakota sky was wide and dotted with stars. She drew her arms around her chest to stave off the cold night. The busted and rotted remains of rusted automobiles loomed like demons in Bobby's dusty yard. When she was far away enough from the house, beyond the reach of Sam's strained voice, Buffy lifted her eyes to the sky and screamed.

"Castiel!" Her arms stretched wide despite the cold and she screamed. "Castiel!" Over and over again, Buffy's voice cried at the empty night. He appeared as silently as the first time they met, his khaki trench coat mildly fluttering around his knee.

"Tell me why I'm here." Buffy demanded in a throaty voice. "Just give me a reason."

"I cannot, Slayer," Castiel replied, his voice devoid of emotion.

"Fine," she grunted, narrowing her eyes. She took a step, pointing her body deliberately away. "That's just fine. I'll just go back to New York. I'm sure the vamps are just falling all over themselves with plans that need foiling."

"Your fight is here, Buffy. You are needed here." Again, his voice was straight as an arrow. She turned, crossing her arms over her chest again. In his eyes, even in the darkness, she could see a glimmer. There was more to him than the rehearsed lines feeding out of him.

"Just tell me why! Look. I can't help Dean. I can't fight his battles for him!"

"You are the Slayer. When Hell unleashes itself, it will be here first." The flat line of his mouth disappeared, and in its place, a frown appeared. His emotion, what emotion an angel could express, played horribly on his face.

"When?! What do you mean when?!"

"I am begging you to stay, Slayer. Fight. Close the gates. Defeat the King of Hell. Please."

And with that, the angel disappeared. Standing alone under the big sky, Buffy reached into her pocket. From it, she retrieved the square of plastic that served as a cellular phone. The battery had a paltry one bar left, and the screen was only dimly lit, but Xander's text message still flashed, waiting to be read. _He didn't even mention Sam. He didn't say anything about how the gates would open, only that they would. This is ridiculous. It can't be true. There's no way the world is going to end on my watch. _The little screen changed as she pressed a button to open the message.

_Buffy. Call Giles. Something about a prophecy. You know the drill. Check in with us, okay? Xan. _

If Giles was in on this, would he know that Buffy had been tapped by the man upstairs? Was that part of the deal? If this was a prophecy, well, that could only stand to be good news. After all, if there was one thing the Slayer was good at, it was rewriting the future. _This is all going to turn out okay. Kicking Fate's Ass is practically written in the Slayer handbook. Not that I ever read the handbook…but I'm sure it's in there somewhere. _Vowing to call Giles as soon as the sun came up; Buffy walked back to the house. She leaned over Dean as he tossed and turned, the blanket tangled around his legs like tentacles. He shivered slightly as her cool lips pressed against his warm skin. She took the stairs two at a time and threw herself onto Bobby's guestroom bed. Fully clothed, she fell asleep and dreamed of victory.

The night skated by quickly, and when she sat up suddenly, her rest seemed incomplete. Still, Buffy got out of bed. The house was quiet, eerily so. Intensity sat on her shoulders like lead weights, dragging her toward the floor. Scrambling down the stairs, she ran directly into Dean, barreling the two of them into a waist-high table. Dean's face crumbled momentarily with the pain and shock of her arrival, but it quickly resumed the mask-like appearance he'd been holding onto for days. Bobby slammed the door to the basement staircase and looked at the two of them. Buffy sank back from Dean.

"He's gone," Dean growled. He grabbed the handful of his belongings that sat on the table and pushed them into his pockets.

"So we'll find him," Buffy breathed through her teeth. It was already starting.

"You're not coming," Dean grimaced at her.

"The hell I'm not!"

"I'm facing Sam alone, Buffy. He's my brother. He's my responsibility."

"I don't care, Dean. This is bigger than Sam. This is the Apocalypse we're talking about! I've been beating back the Apocalypse for years, and I was brought here to stop it. Besides, you're on deck for the damn angel army, remember? If they recruit you before you get to Sam, we're all dead. You need me."

Dean fumed like the smoke stack of a freight train, but Bobby's stern look coupled with the Slayer's argument was more than he could deal with. He sank behind the wheel of the Impala and started the engine. The radio began to rock, but Dean punched the off switch with his knuckle. Buffy slammed the passenger door just as her phone began to ring. She dug it out of her pocket and pressed it to her ear. Beside Dean's window, Bobby sank his head into the car.

"Sam doesn't want to be found, guys. He'll be hard to track. But he abandoned my car in Rapid City."

"Do you have a list of other cars stolen out there?"

"An old Civic with a dented bumper and a white SUV with custom rims," Bobby shrugged.

"Get an APB on the SUV,"

"That doesn't sound like Sam…" Bobby frowned.

"Exactly."

Dean sped down the road, his elbow arched over the open window. Beside him, Buffy muttered into her phone. Her eyes darkened, and her hands clenched into fists, whitening the flesh around her knuckles. She pressed a button on the phone and let it fall into her lap. Dean pushed down on the gas, rocketing the car harder and faster down the open highway. They barreled toward a low-hanging storm cloud and rain splashed against the windshield.

"What is it?" Dean asked, turning to look at her briefly.

"Nothing," Buffy lied, looking away from him.

"Oh no, don't pull that. I'm sick of everyone lying to me. Sam. Cas. Just spill it, Buffy. Whatever it is, at this point, it doesn't even matter."

"Well," Buffy shrugged. She didn't look at him, but out the window at the world spinning by at 90 miles an hour. "The world's going to end." Rain smashed against the glass. "There's a prophecy about it. You, me, Sam? We're all in it. So far, it's all coming true."

"I don't believe in destiny. We'll change it."

"Maybe," Buffy shrugged.

"We'll change it. The world isn't going to end."

"I've been fighting this for years, Dean. And there's more. After the world ends, there's more to it."

"Don't tell me. I don't want to know. When we change the future, then you can tell me what the stupid prophecy said."

They drove in silence for hours, tracking Sam and his SUV. Staring across the vehicle at Dean, she half-expected him to disappear somewhere along the highway, called up by the Powers that Be. The car would spin out of control and Buffy would jump out of the open drivers' side window just as the Impala sailed down a cliff and burst into flames. It never happened. Instead, Dean pulled off the road into the parking lot of a Holiday Inn just outside of Madison, Wisconsin. He popped the trunk and they both got out of the car. Buffy stared down at the arsenal of weapons and pulled from it a hunting knife. Dean loaded his shotgun.

"Stay out of the way. I need to talk to Sam." Dean grunted as they took off toward the hotel. Buffy rolled her eyes, but she didn't argue. Dean distracted the receptionist with questions while Buffy checked the roster for the correct room. They ascended the back stairs together and sank down the hall toward the hotel room. Dean thrust his shoulder against the door, popping it open so that it swung hard and slammed into the inside wall. Sam knelt over Ruby, his mouth poisoned over her arm, suckling blood from her veins. The Slayer's first instinct was to thrust a stake through him, to kill the vampire that had taken over Sam Winchester. Instead, Dean grabbed him roughly by the arm and yanked him away. Panic spread across Ruby's human visage. She bolted toward the hall where Buffy waited in silence.

"Oh come on, the party's just starting," Buffy frowned mockingly, throwing her fist between Ruby's eyes. She reeled backward down the hall, catching herself from falling.

"I'm trying to help him!" Ruby whined, looking for an exit.

"Sure you are," Buffy threw her leg up, kicking the demon backward again, catching her in the sternum. "You're just misunderstood, right?"

"I think you're the one that doesn't understand," Ruby growled, her eyes blackening. She raised her hand, lifting Buffy off the floor and tossing her into a wall. The knife clattered to the ground.

"Penalty," Buffy groaned. "Cheating." She stretched out her fingers toward the knife, but Ruby reached down to grab it first. Buffy clawed her way back to standing, ramming her knee into Ruby's gut. The demon reeled but clung to the weapon. From her pocket, the Slayer grabbed a bottle of Holy water. She flung it at the demon, splashing her face and limp brown hair. Ruby's screams filled the corridor. She tore at the Slayer, wielding the knife like a serial killer. Buffy kicked again, but the hit missed and the knife sank into her side, staining her clothes with blood. She swung with her fist, cracking the demon across the jaw. Her head snapped back, and she threw her own punch, knocking the wounded hunter to the ground. Ruby ran down the hall, and the door to the stairs slammed loudly.

"Guess I won't be wearing this shirt again," Buffy groaned, getting unsteadily to her feet. Pain shot through her abdomen and radiated out, shaking her fingers and tingling her neck. Blood seeped into her shirt, a growing stain of dark red. It took her a few minutes to stumble into the hotel room. Sam was leaning over his brother, his hands wrapped tightly around Dean's throat. Broken glass littered the floor.

Mustering her strength, Buffy threw herself across the room and grabbed Sam by the shoulder. She yanked hard and threw him across the room, loosening his grasp on Dean. A few cracked chunks of plaster dropped down from the ceiling and mixed with Sam's stringy dark hair. Buffy dropped onto the edge of the bed, the sheet stained with demon blood. The brothers' voices echoed in her ears, but she couldn't make most of the argument out.

"If you walk out that door, don't ever come back!" Dean roared with a broken voice. Sam got up and walked out of the room. He didn't turn back. The door slammed shut behind him.

Buffy wrapped her fingers around the knife's hilt and yanked. Blood gushed from her open wound, spreading the stain. Dean rolled onto his back in agony.

"Hey," Buffy murmured, mostly to herself. "You gotta towel?"


	7. Chapter 7

**The Song Remains the Same**

_Chapter 7_

"This is just…embarrassing," Buffy muttered, lifting up her blood-painted shirt to look at the gruesome stab wound. She washed the blood away with a damp white cloth from the fancy bathroom. Behind her, Dean sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor, his arms resting heavily on his thighs.

"Hey," she said to him, turning away from the mirror to peer out into the bedroom. "We'll find him."

"It doesn't matter," Dean shrugged, his brow furrowed. He got to his feet, retrieved the shotgun from the floor. "I'm done with him."

"Dean, come on, he's your brother."

"Not anymore. Hell, I don't even know if he ever was…"

"Wow, hold it," Buffy frowned. She pushed her shirt back down over the open wound and approached him. Wincing slightly, she crouched under his lowered gaze. Inches from his face, she let her features soften. "Just because he's confused about his part in all this doesn't mean he isn't your brother, Dean. Sam's still in there somewhere. Yeah, he's confused. But he needs your help. You're his big brother. You have to protect him."

"I told him not to walk out that door, Buffy. He made the choice. He left."

"Wow, you're even thicker than I thought. If you thought you were going to save the world, and your brother told you to stay by and shut up, would you? Have you? I know it doesn't look like it to you, but he's trying to be you. He's trying to protect you! Clearly…um, misguided attempt there with the whole demon carnage blood-sucking thing, but his heart is in the right place."

Dean lifted his head. He looked hard into the Slayer's eyes. And then he disappeared.

Buffy sat back on her heels. She rubbed her face with the back of her hand. But Dean was still gone. He'd been called upstairs.

"Oh Hell," Buffy mumbled. "He has the car keys."

Stretching out a hand, Buffy pushed herself to her feet using the edge of the bed that Dean had, only moment ago, been sitting upon. Eyes bored into the back of her neck and she turned around slowly, removing the knife from her pocket a second time. Sure, it was still damp and sticky with her own blood, but it was the only weapon available. Castiel stood in front of the hotel room door, his face sullen, his shoulders sinking in his coat, and his steely blue eyes clouded with fear and doubt. His appearance struck her. Was this the spooky creeper from the parking lot? He looked like the man she'd met days before in New York, a powerless being, as afraid of the apocalypse as any regular mortal. He wrapped one hand around the frame of the door, almost like he was hanging on for support.

"I have chosen the wrong side. I have taken the wrong path."

"Castiel," Buffy paused, looking into his sad face. Gosh, he wasn't half-bad looking when he was brooding. Okay Buffy, focus. "Where's Dean?"

"They have taken him."

"They…"

"Zachariah. The angels. They have him."

"So get him out of there! We have to go after Sam, after Lilith."

"I cannot. If they discover me, we are all doomed. We must wait. You must go. Fight."

"You already told me it's coming, right? The end of the world? What can I do?"

"Have faith."

"Oh please. That line didn't work on Dean and it is most definitely not going to work on me."

"Have faith in yourself, Slayer. As you said, you have been beating back the End for years. Do it again today. Fight back. Win."

"Well, backup would be nice you know…" Buffy muttered.

"You are the Slayer. You will always fight alone."

Buffy looked down at her hands, dropping the bloody knife on the floor with a muted clatter. On the bed, out of nowhere, sat the scythe. It was the one weapon that had beaten back the very depths of Hell itself. She lifted it into her hands, weighing the thing, making sure it was real. The stake had been sharpened, and the blade of the axe was shiny and new.

"Get Dean out of there, Cas. I'll go after Lilith." She turned around to face him, to make sure he'd heard her. But the room was empty. _Oh good. Talking to myself. That's the first sign of crazy. _

Buffy ran down the hall and descended the back stairs, following the path she'd taken with Dean, back to the Impala. Without a second thought as to Dean's eventual horror, Buffy threw one powerful fist through the window. The glass shattered and spilled over the seat. Unlocking the door, she pushed aside the remains of broken window and thrust her fingers under the wheel to search for wires. If there was one thing Spike had taught her, it was how to steal a car. The engine bellowed to life.

"Okay," Buffy said aloud to the empty car. "So, where to?"

The Impala was quiet. No answer.

"Hm, if I were a demon, I'd have a hard time keeping the End of the World a big ol' secret." Buffy slammed on the gas and the car lurched forward. Music filled the interior, and this time, she didn't turn it off.

The wheels spun wildly over freshly dampened roads. The Slayer roared down the highway into the industrial district at the edge of Madison, just past the train tracks. Dark figures scattered away from the car, hiding between the rail cars. Buffy pulled to a stop and shut off the engine. She grabbed the scythe off the passenger seat and stepped out of the car. In the silence, she listened. Her footsteps were quiet and deliberate, her senses heightened. For years, she'd trained with Giles to be more vigilant, to be able to sense vampires in the dark before she could actually see them. Though she'd never learned that particular ability, the demons, for whatever reason, seemed to be drawn to her. Either that, or they were just too dumb to pay attention to approaching Slayers.

"Out for a drive, sweetie?" Yellow eyes glowed in the dark, peering at her from behind an aging locomotive. He tilted his head.

"I woke up and realized I needed a little more danger in my life," Buffy shrugged thoughtfully.

"You're bleeding," he purred.

"Had a run in," she frowned. "Bitch from Hell."

"Don't knock it until you try it," the vampire shrugged.

"Oh, I have," Buffy grimaced, narrowing her eyes. Two more began to circle her. She could hear them moving, feel their hungry gazes on her. She'd never feed all of them, not even if she could get caught. These guys were starving rats. Madison was too nice a place for vampire vermin.

"Baby, you haven't tried anything yet," he cooed, suddenly upon her. Buffy swung the scythe, knocking the vamp to the ground. The other two ran up to protect their leader, and the fight began. Buffy threw punches and kicks, stabbing one through the heart, the dust washing over her arm. Another grabbed her by the arm while his talkative cohort grabbed for her neck. Buffy kicked forcefully, knocking down both men with one strong jolt of her body. She threw the scythe back, chopping the head off of the lackey. He wouldn't know anything useful, but maybe this guy. Him, she pinned to the ground under her knee, the stake hovering over him like the Angel of Death.

"Who the hell are you?"

"Buffy Summers," she smiled. "Vampire Slayer."

"I thought you moved to New York!"

"I'm on vacation. Where's Lilith?"

"You can't beat her. You're not that good."

"I'll be the judge. Talk."

"Why? You're just going to kill me anyway."

"Good call. But if you tell me now, I won't make you suffer."

"You'll never get to her in time. And even if you do, one look at her will kill you instantly."

"Can we cut to the end already? She's bad. I get it. Now. I'm only going to ask you one more time. Where is Lilith?"

"Bite me," he laughed.

Buffy scowled. From the pocket of her pants, she removed a second vial of Holy water. Never face a demon unprepared. Uncorking the bottle, she poured a few drops into his glowing yellow eyes. The vampire screamed, his edgy voice bouncing from the side of every steel train car. She tipped the bottle again, but the vampire squirmed under her.

"I'll tell you! Jeez, I'll tell you. Just keep that stuff away from me!"

"Wow. You cracked way faster than I would have liked. Good thing I'm on a schedule."

"She's at Saint Mary's Convent in Ilchester, Maryland. The Devil will rise, Slayer. You'll never get to her in time."

"We'll see," Buffy replied. She raised the stake and plunged it into the vamp's chest. The dust settled as she ran back to the car and restarted the engine. She'd have to drive even faster to get to Maryland and stop Lilith. Hopefully, the angel on her shoulder could keep the highway patrol at bay.

Pushing the pedal to the floor, Buffy drove down the highway, both hands glued to the wheel. Wind gushed through the open window, freezing her skin and chattering her teeth. The sun rose slowly over the east, filling the car with blinding light. Still she drove, zooming down the unclogged roads toward the last stand against the apocalypse. Her phone began to ring but she ignored it. Unless it was Dean Winchester calling from Heaven, it could wait until later. Finally, Buffy pulled up in front of the convent. Sam's newly acquired Corvette sat outside abandoned. Castiel stood near the iron gate, looking up at the lonely bell tower.

"Cas," Buffy breathed, shutting off the car and scrambling out toward the convent.

"Buffy,"

"Where's Dean? Do you have him yet?"

"Soon. Very soon, I will claim him from Heaven. You must kill Sam Winchester, Buffy."

"Kill…whoa. What the hell are you talking about?"

"Lilith is the final seal. If she dies, the Devil will walk. The world will end."

"So if Sam kills Lilith…"

"We are all doomed."

"I can't kill Sam…"

"You know what is at stake, Buffy. You know how many lives would be lost if Sam were to kill Lilith. He cannot be reasoned with. You must stop him. He is growing more powerful. Hurry!"

She didn't take a second glance at the angel. Instead, she pushed open the gate and ran into the convent, pushing past the broken doorway, the forced entrance of Sam and Ruby. They were already inside. She didn't have to see the car or the door to know it. Everything was happening so quickly, and the end was so very close. She turned the corner as the doors began to close. Footsteps echoed in the dark behind her. Dean. Buffy threw herself inside the doors as they shut. Fists pounded on the latched entrance. Ruby turned, her eyes as dark as the night itself. She lingered in the background like the devil on Sam's shoulder. Buffy whipped the scythe around, catching her across the skull with a loud crack. The demon collapsed, but continued to hiss and manipulate.

Sam lifted his hand toward the blonde demon in front of him, her eyes glazed white. Buffy swung the scythe again, throwing the battle axe end toward Sam. He turned on her, his eyes as smoky black as those of a demon. He barely blinked before Buffy was thrown across the room. She slammed loudly against a crumbling stone wall. On her knees, she retrieved the still shining weapon. Dean's voice echoed through the door, distracting Sam. He looked slowly over his shoulder, his hand wobbling over Lilith's shaking form. She began to cackle, to laugh like an insolent child. Ruby screamed, letting blood dribble down her face in streams. It was her chance, the only moment she'd get. Buffy rolled onto her feet and raised the scythe, bringing the axe head down with incredible force. She came to stand between Sam and the demon, blocking Lilith like a shield. The force of Sam's power hit her like a train, throwing her backward, tumbling her end over end until she cracked like a porcelain doll against the stone altar in the middle of the room. She crumbled on the floor in a pile.

Voices came back to her slowly, though she kept her eyes closed. Still, she heard the cloudy sounds of Ruby and Sam, standing nearby.

"You did it. It was a little touch and go there for awhile, but you did it." Ruby's voice cleared up as she spoke. Whatever damage the Slayer had inflicted hadn't been enough to shut her up.

"What…what did I do?"

"You opened the door. Now he's free at last. He is free at last." They'd lost. The world was going to end. Maybe it already had.

"No…" Sam whimpered. "I killed her."

"And it is written that the first demon shall be the last seal. You killed her and it's open. Now guess who's coming to dinner."

"Oh my God," Sam hissed.

"Guess again," Ruby chuckled gleefully.

Buffy slowly opened her eyes, creasing her brow in response to the pain. Whatever Sam had done to himself, whatever Ruby had encouraged him to do, it had made him about as powerful as a God. She hadn't felt this kind of pain since Glory. Her tongue tasted like blood. It hurt to think. Worst of all, she'd failed. She'd actually failed.

"Why? Why me?" Sam was asking.

"Because it had to be you, Sammy. It always had to be you. You saved us. You set him free. And he's going to be grateful. He's gonna repay you in ways you can't even imagine."

The doors swung open suddenly. Dean stood between them, a knife clutched in his hand.

"You're too late." Ruby laughed.

"I don't care."

Sam wrapped his arms around the demon and the weapon slid into her easily. Her screams filled the convent, bouncing from the walls and loosening a few chunks of dust from the ceiling. The Slayer's eyes stared across the room at the broken shell of a demon dumped heartlessly on the floor. She pulled an elbow under her shoulder and tried to hoist herself up. Nothing moved the way it was supposed to move. Dean crossed the room to help her. Sam mumbled a pathetic "I'm sorry," as his brother walked away.

He took a knee and carefully slid his arm beneath her shoulders. Buffy grit her teeth against the pain and let him get a grip on her. She looked up over his arm to see the room fill with white, the light covering every surface, blinding them all. It was more than too late. Hell was upon them. The end was officially nigh.


End file.
